


I Want To Be For You

by micehell



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, TOKIO
Genre: M/M, fantasy sex (maybe more than vanilla but not far from it), porn with a tiny bit of plot ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to give Gussan what he's missing... just not as much as he can't.</p><p>(In my head this is set around 96 to 98-ish sometime (but whatever floats your boat, so if you want to set it even later than that in your head, feel free ;).  Title, as it far too frequently is, is from Bush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want To Be For You

The lighting is low, subtle. His eyes have to strain a little to see what waits for him down the steps. He takes his time as he descends, anticipation in each measured step, in the light that makes him work to see.

What’s waiting for him is porn, the finest kind. There’s nothing cheap in the leather that binds the man kneeling before him, nothing cheap in the man himself. He’s the type that fantasies are made of even when his pretty mouth isn’t held wide and waiting by the gag in it, or when that pretty ass isn’t slicked and stretched and eager. His arms are bound high over his head, his knees spread wide as he kneels on the cold floor, but it’s not fear that makes him shiver as Joshima (measured step by measured step) nears him.

Joshima knows what Nagase looks like naked, they all do, but this is the first time he’s ever seen him hard and ready, dick full and tapping against his belly and every bit as pretty as Gussan had promised he’d be. Joshima shivers in time (always matching the beat that Nagase sets, always together in this, at least), and smiles to himself at the gag-smothered whine Nagase makes when he strokes one string-callused finger over the quivering head of the dick that, impossibly, swells to meet his touch.

He could sink himself deep in Nagase and be welcomed. He could take what’s so clearly being offered. He could give Nagase what he apparently wants and Gussan what he sometimes needs and they’d be happy...

But Joshima wouldn’t be. He sees Nagase bound and helpless and needing his touch and he wants him, his mouth dry and his dick hard and he could cry with the need. But it isn’t the need to sink deep or to take, and he could cry with that, too.

Joshima hears Gussan’s voice in his head, hears it behind him, urging him, cajoling him, asking for this one thing from him, and he wants to give it, to be just what Gussan needs...

But it isn’t what Joshima needs. There are too many years (thirty coming up behind him measured step by measured step) of neuroses that aren’t quite of his making (but aren’t quite not of his making either), and in far too many of those years he’s equated being taken, being fucked (maybe even being fucked over) with being needed, being loved. So whenever Gussan had asked to be fucked, had asked for his share, Joshima couldn’t give him what he needed. 

He can’t this time either. Instead he sinks to his own knees, goes down even further, goes down the long line of Nagase’s dick with his tongue, letting it slide down some more until he can barely moan around it as it fills his mouth and throat. He’s had years (too many, maybe, but never enough, too) of learning to do this, of loving to do this, and he wants to laugh at the harmony of Nagase’s gag-smothered moans mixing with his dick-smothered ones. He knows Gussan is watching, disappointed that Joshima won’t even try, but he also knows Gussan is watching, turned on by the sight before him, his moans not smothered at all.

Joshima lets Nagase slip from his mouth, and his sigh mixes with Nagase’s (the finest kind of harmony, always matching the beat), but neither of them sighs for long as he turns around, as he pushes down. Nagase is struggling against the hold on his hands, bucking against the hold on his legs, wanting to push Joshima down further, wanting to push up into Joshima more, and Joshima doesn’t have the heart to tease, doesn’t have the patience, wanting to be filled, wanting to feel it forever, the almost burn and the sort-of pain and the utter pleasure. 

He can see Gussan watching, nothing of disappointment in his face now or the way he says Joshima’s name, just need and love (just like Joshima’s always known). He holds out a hand to him, drawing him closer, and he kisses him deep even as he takes Nagase in deeper.

Gussan leans up to kiss Nagase, tongue slipping through the gag that holds his mouth open, leaving Joshima’s voice to gasp and plead alone, but Joshima doesn’t mind, caught between the man behind him and the one before him and it’s only when Gussan moves away that Joshima wonders if it’s okay.

But he feels hands on his hips, pulling him back further, feels the rhythm he’s been keeping change as Gussan sinks deep into Nagase and Nagase sinks deeper into Joshima, and this is good, this is better, point and counterpoint. He’s shaking, knees wanting to give way, but Gussan’s there and Nagase’s there and Joshima’s so close, so close, falling over the moment Gussan’s hands slide down from his hips to circle his dick, and it’s so good it hurts, like being beaten by his orgasm. He clenches tight around Nagase, making it harder for him, harder for Gussan, but they keep going even as the rhythm falls apart, their hips stuttering out their own release.

Afterward Joshima’s knees hurt, Nagase’s wrists and ankles are chafed, and Gussan is soft and quiet, taking care of them both, making sure they’re all right. Nagase is, sleepy and happy after sex, his voice slurred as he lets them put him to bed, his language informal with Joshima in a way it rarely is. Joshima is, letting Nagase curl up behind him as his own eyelids start to droop. Nagase’s barely more than a child even after the number of years they’ve all been together, but those broad shoulders, that long body, warm around him, are still comforting. Gussan is,...

But he’s looking at Joshima, happy in the moment, but still missing that thing that Joshima can’t seem to give him.

~*~

Joshima wants to tell Gussan that he doesn’t need to draw the others into it. Nagase, bound and helpless, as sexy as it had been, wasn’t going to bring out some hidden desire to top where Gussan (soft and quiet, hard and wanting) hadn’t. He knows what Gussan wants (sometimes, only sometimes, usually perfectly happy to fuck Joshima right through the wall), and he wants to give it to him, he does. Just not as much as he needs not to.

He wants to tell Gussan that Nagase bound and Taichi in the schoolgirl outfit are Gussan’s fantasies, not his, but he can’t do that, either. Not when Taichi’s right in front of him, the skirt of the uniform high on his legs, the cant of his hips highlighting the firm ass hidden beneath it. Nagase had been the best kind of porn, moody lighting and charged atmosphere, but Taichi has never been that kind of subtle in his life, over the top and having fun and making fun of Joshima even as he leans over the school desk Gussan had somehow gotten moved into their apartment, an open invitation.

As cute as he is in the costume, there’s nothing feminine about Taichi, the legs too muscled (and hairy), the body too masculine, the stubble he didn’t even bother to shave doing nothing to help the illusion, but Joshima doesn’t need it either. As irritating as Taichi can be, he’s definitely making the outfit work, cute and sexy and wrong all at the same time and Joshima wants him (just like Gussan knew he would). Taichi leans further over, tilting his ass up further, letting it sway from side to side like a matador waving his cape.

Everything about this is as forbidden as the fantasy they’d played out with Nagase; the ‘borrowed’ desk, the oh so kinky outfit, the gender bending (that’s not even really trying). And Joshima’s just as turned on; he’s hard, so hard he’s shaking with it, swaying from side to side (the bull caught by the horns, caught in Taichi’s rhythm). He wants so much...

Just not what it is Gussan needs him to. And maybe it’s because Taichi’s more aggressive (less likely to stick to Gussan’s script than Nagase), or maybe it’s just because Taichi’s free to move as he likes, but this time Joshima doesn’t have to take what he wants. This time it’s Taichi that pushes him down, eyes wide with arousal, the skirt barely covering it. It’s Taichi that strips Joshima bare, hollows him out with those long fingers (those wide hands that span octaves, that span Joshima’s hips as Taichi guides him into place). It’s Taichi that pushes into him, so hard and good, the flap of the skirt is soft and scratchy against Joshima’s thighs, Taichi’s thighs strong and firm against him as he fucks Joshima wide open. 

It’s Gussan that pulls Joshima back further across the desk, Taichi laughing and complaining and never breaking rhythm as he follows along until Joshima’s head is over the far edge and Gussan’s dick is pressed against Joshima’s lips, gliding over his tongue and deep inside. Joshima can’t breathe, pushed and pulled and fucked (needed and loved), and he tries to take them both in further and further, wanting them further still, but he can’t hold back, white spots dancing in his vision, orgasm washing through him, over him, in him. He’s swallowing come, he’s covered in it, Taichi’s tongue chasing it across his stomach, Gussan’s across his tongue, and Joshima lets them clean him, dress him, squish him between them as they sit on the desk and talk about nothing much at all. 

Taichi’s on his left, restless as always, fidgeting with his skirt, amused and amusing and snarky even now, but Gussan’s quiet and still on Joshima’s right, happy in the moment, but still missing that thing that Joshima can’t seem to give him.

~*~

When Mabo was fourteen and just starting to make a name for himself at Johnny’s, his father had taken him aside and given him the birds and bees talk, figuring that fame would have its rewards and it was best to be prepared.

What he hadn’t considered was that Mabo would spend far more of his time around a bunch of guys who had also hit puberty running, and who had to be careful (years and years upon years careful) about what girls they dated (and what girls they fucked). It was Joshima who had given the fifteen-year-old Mabo the birds and birds (or maybe bees and bees) talk, another in a long line of things he’d taught the kid over the years that his parents hadn’t realized he’d need to know. It was also Joshima who’d had to give the kid a soft smile and a cool towel, Mabo almost beyond embarrassment at just the mention of sex, his face red and drowning in sweat and yet still grateful for the knowledge even if he was too embarrassed to say so. 

Since that embarrassment paled in comparison to the time, just a week later, that Joshima had found Mabo trying out his newfound knowledge on Inocchi (much though Mabo tried to claim he didn’t even _like_ the idiot), Joshima didn’t want to even imagine what scenario Gussan might try to talk Mabo into playing out (and just how red Mabo could get before he finally burst into flames). 

So this time, before Gussan could plan, before he could ask, voice soft and plaintive, for Joshima to give him what he (sometimes) wanted, Joshima gave him what he could instead.

~*~

Gussan’s skin, tan then pale then red and eager, glows in the low light, the leather that crosses his hands, that pulls his knees wide, a pretty contrast. Strongly muscled arms quiver at the strain of being pulled so high above his head, but his knees spread wide across the floor and then wider still, legs shaking with the effort, with need, as Joshima kneels before him and licks his way down Gussan’s dick, tongues at his balls. 

Joshima pulls off, stealing the part of Gussan’s whine the gag didn’t smother by kissing him through it, tongue stroking along Gussan’s even as Nagase lines himself up and pushes in and in, Gussan’s whine turning to a moan as Nagase fucks him open. Joshima keeps kissing him; the eyelids closed at the pleasure of (finally) being fucked hard, the forehead covered in sweat as his body burns and shakes, the neck Gussan stretches back at the feel of Joshima’s hands on his dick (always matching the beat that Nagase sets, always together in this).

He kisses his way down Gussan’s chest (shivering), his stomach (trembling), his dick (swelling to meet his lips), and Joshima moans around it, making Gussan moan in turn (the best kind of harmony). 

Nagase speeds up, slows down, slams in, driving Gussan further down Joshima’s throat and this is what they both want, they all want, Gussan to be fucked, and Joshima to be needed, and Nagase doesn’t mind sharing this with them from time to time. Taichi doesn’t mind, the skirt long gone, but those strong hands now pulling Joshima’s hips up even as he pushes his head further down onto Gussan’s dick, and then Taichi’s in him, deep in him, all restless energy and bemused affection, and he’s egging Nagase on: who can hold out the longest, make their partner come the fastest, fuck the hardest, Joshima can’t even tell anymore, all their voices washing over him, familiar and perfect.

Afterward Joshima is caught between two of them (though he can’t bother to figure out who), and he’s sore and tired and happy and warm. And even though Joshima can’t see him, opening his eyes far more effort than he wants to make right now, he smiles because he knows that Gussan isn’t missing anything at all. 

/story


End file.
